


Twist of Fate

by we_dreamerz



Category: Brave (2012), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Meridean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_dreamerz/pseuds/we_dreamerz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy isn't Sammy anymore.  Dean is desperate to have his brother's soul returned and calls fate to the mat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP of mini chapters. Also posted on Tumblr under waywardwisp.

Chapter One

The cracks and peeling paint of another shitty motel ceiling stared back at him in the light of the full moon. He rolled over, wincing, hoping he hadn't pulled his stitches. He eyed the bottle of rotgut on the bedside table and for a moment considered a drink. It used to numb the pain and help him sleep. But these days it just seemed to invite the nightmares in. 

Not that it mattered. He’d learned a long time ago that the things that went bump in the night were real. Nightmares were nothing compared to the things he’d actually seen...and done.

Monsters, check. Demons, Gods and Angels? Up to his ass in it. Hell? Been there, done that, bought the fucking t-shirt. But nothing in his life had prepared him for watching his brother Sam, take a Swan Dive into Lucifer’s cage.

Dean was supposed to take care of Sam. It had been his responsibility for as long as he could he could remember. “Take care of Sammy,” his Dad had said. And that's exactly what Dean had done. Until Sam decided the only way to save the word was to sacrifice himself, let Lucifer use him as a meat suit and jump into the cage.

But now Sam was back, sans Lucy, seemingly saved and looking for all the world just like his brother. Except he wasn’t. Because his brother was...good. He was honorable and he was filled with compassion. The thing that had crawled out of the cage was...well he wasn’t Sammy anymore that was for damn sure. 

Sam’s soul, the thing that made him Sam was still locked in the cage playing Lucifer’s chew toy. And the empty shell masquerading as his brother was downright terrifying.

In desperation, Dean had gambled on Death. He’d agreed to be Death for one day - walk a mile in the old man’s shoes. But Dean hadn’t been able to pull it off. He’d failed miserably. Now there was no way Death would rescue Sam’s soul from the cage and now Dean was all out of cards.

He looked at the empty bed beside his own and turned back toward the window, deciding to deal with the moon instead. He closed his eyes and sighed. He’d prayed to Cas, he’d gambled with Death and both times he’d ended up with nothing to show. Fate, that fickle bitch seemed to have it out for him.

“Give him back to me, you bitch,” he said softly. “You’ve taken almost everyone from me. You can't have him.”

“You hear me?” Dean yelled at the ceiling. “Not him! You can’t have him!”

In the silence he felt the weight of his despair settle into his chest. He closed his eyes against the hot sting of tears and sighed. And something in the darkness sighed back.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean sat upright, the gun from beneath his pillow aimed into shadows. A moment passed in silence and the sound came again, a musical giggle from the other side of the door. 

Feet bare on the skanky motel carpet, Dean moved silently to the window and pushed back the curtain to peer outside. The night was whitewashed in moonlight and the parking lot appeared to be empty. The Impala was parked in front of the motel door, safe and sound.

He was about to chalk it up to thin walls when a pulsing blue light came from inside the Impala.

“Oh hell no,” he growled and shoved his feet into his boots. “Not my baby.”

Bursting into the night, gun trained on the car, he came to a skidding halt when what appeared to be a small blue flame wiggled out of the open passenger side window. He lowered his gun and smiled crookedly at the little thing.

Another sigh came from behind the car and a second blue flame joined the first. They twirled and danced a moment while Dean watched with awe.

“Never fuck with a wisp, boys,” had been the one and only lesson John Winchester had ever imparted to his sons on the matter. When they’d asked why, he’d only shaken his head and said that any hunter who had ever tangled with wisps had never been the same.

Dean watched them dance until they seemed to turn their attention back to him. They bobbed a little closer and then moved away. When Dean took a step toward them they disappeared, only to pop up again several feet away.

“Hey, you invited me to this party,” he said. The little flames tittered and came closer then moved away again.

“What do you want? I was sort of busy having a family crisis,” he said as another blue flame wiggled free from a crack in the pavement and yet another appeared further down the path.

“What, you want me follow you?” he asked when the first two appeared to be waiting for him.

“Something tells me I’m going to regret this,” Dean muttered and followed the little blue lights out of the parking lot and down the street.

They led him through a labyrinth of backstreets and alleyways, giggling and sighing. Just when he thought they’d disappeared for good, one would pop up again, the blue flame reflecting in puddles and along the walls. 

He’d been chasing the little shits for over an hour, and was beginning to wonder whether there was a point to their game or he had just been chosen for tonight’s entertainment.

“Come on, let’s get on with it already!” he yelled, chasing a flame around the corner and coming to an abrupt halt. He scrambled back, narrowly missing the pointy tip of an arrow aimed at his head.

“And what exactly are we getting on with?” a sharp, feminine voice, with a heavy Scottish brogue asked from the shadows.

Dean squinted, assessing the threat and raising his gun. The arrow moved closer and he froze.

“I’d advise ye to drop your weapon, sir,” his assailant said. “Lest I be forced to mar your pretty face.”

“Who are you?” he asked, slowly putting the gun on the ground.

She stepped forward into the light and pulled down the hood of what looked like a cloak, releasing a mass of unruly, red corkscrew curls.

“The better question,” she said, big blue eyes meeting Dean’s. “Is WHEN am I?”


End file.
